Professional
by charverz
Summary: A dinner with Paul Drake reveals Della's philosophy. In vino veritas, so they say. This one has taken off on a very interesting path of its own. To those who have read my story: thank you, and thank you for your reviews. Complete unless inspiration hits.
1. Chapter 1

_I've been a Perry Mason fan since the series first aired, and my parents (both lawyers) would let us stay up the extra half hour past our 9:00 pm bedtime to watch. I actually practiced law myself for several months, before ending up in publishing. This story, which I'm afraid goes against the current where Della is concerned, reflects my own experience._

_No claim to the books, show, or characters._

Perry Mason stood by the open door of the taxi, giving last minute instructions to Paul Drake.

"Paul, Della's been working thirty hour days for me, and can't even be here to see me off. She deserves a treat. Take her out for a really nice dinner." And he handed Paul a fifty-dollar bill.

"Sure Perry. My pleasure. Have a good trip."

Paul headed back up to the Drake Detective Agency, and popped his head into Perry Mason's reception area. Gertie looked up. "Can I help you. Mister Drake?"

"Hi Gertie. Can you buzz me when Della gets back?"

"Sure can.", Gertie said with a smile.

Twenty minutes later Gertie called, and Paul crossed to her office.

"Hi, Beautiful!" Paul's standard greeting still brought a smile to Della's face.

"The Boss wants me to take you out to dinner and spoil you. How about it?"

"I'd love to. I'll be right with you, Paul."

Paul knew all the best restaurants, and bearing in mind Perry's instructions, drove to a cosy, intimate French restaurant. Dinner began with cocktails, and the excellent main course was accompanied by a vintage wine. Della found that she was hungrier (and thirstier) than she thought. As Paul recounted some very interesting details of his current case, Della soon lost track of what was going into her glass. By the time Paul ordered brandy to accompany dessert, she was quite mellow.

Paul looked at her across the table. "Well, gorgeous, what should we do now?"

"How about we go back to my place and go to bed together?" Della replied, looking him straight in the eyes.

Paul had taken uppercuts that hadn't shaken him as much. His jaw dropped. He turned red, and stammered: "But… Well… We can't. You're…"

"Perry's woman? His lover?" Della wasn't giving him a break. "I'm his secretary. I don't know why everyone assumes a secretary is in love with her boss."

"OK Della, but there is something special between you two, isn't there?"

"Yes, there is. I'm part of a team. I love working with him. I like taking care of him so that he can succeed. I suppose I love him - but not in that sense. But I also like the fact that I'm free to be Della Street the rest of the time. I'd lose that if I were Mrs. Perry Mason. I'd also lose it all if I slept with him. I've seen it happen in other offices. The girls who marry the lawyer don't really want to be secretaries – they've got their sights set on the money. The ones who get involved on a casual basis end up looking for another job when it breaks up. Lawyers aren't the only ones who can be professional. People shouldn't marry just because they work well together."

"You're right. I'm sorry, Della; I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. But you threw me for a loop with that proposition."

He grinned impishly. "I don't suppose I could take you up on it?"

Della smiled. "I'm not your type. But then neither are the blondes you chase. They're just part of your Philip Marlow impression. One of these days you'll meet a nice girl. She'll be a little heavier than she'd like to be, and will fall for you like a ton of bricks. She'll probably be a farmer's daughter from the Midwest, and she'll cook like a dream. But don't stop flirting with me – it's good for my self esteem."

"And thanks for a wonderful evening."


	2. Chapter 2

Della was alone that evening at the office. Perry was off at a trial lawyers' dinner, and she decided that it was an ideal time to catch up on some filing.

Suddenly she heard Paul Drake's code knock, and the door opened. Paul stepped in, and saluted Della with his customary "Hello Beautiful."

Then, "Have you got a cup of coffee for a worn-out private detective? I've had a long stakeout."

Della smiled: "I'll get some on right away." She noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and his less than steady progress over to the couch.

When she came back with a steaming cup in her hand, Paul was fast asleep. Della looked at him, concern written on her face. She hadn't seen Paul like this before. She crossed to a cupboard and took out a blanket. She slipped off Paul's shoes, and gently stretched the blanket over him. Then she sat on a nearby chair, not wanting to do anything to disturb him.

In sleep, Paul's face looked even younger than usual, despite his exhausted state. She felt a twinge of conscience when she thought how she had hit him with the mock proposition at dinner earlier in the week. She realized that she wasn't quite sure just how she saw him. Paul was only a couple of years younger than Della, but acted much younger. At times she wanted to mother him, as she had just done. And with a jerk of sudden insight, she realized that Paul was a damn good-looking man, with an easy grace, a quick wit, and a love for life, and though she could hardly admit it to herself, part of her was attracted by him. For all that it had been Perry's treat, she had genuinely enjoyed dining with him, and that made her all the more ashamed of how she had treated him.

Della didn't know what to think, but she knew that she could not resolve her inner conflict that evening. Paul needed to sleep.

She bent over and kissed him. Once on the forehead.

And once on the lips.


	3. Chapter 3

An hour later Paul awoke to find himself on the couch, with Della sitting nearby, a concerned look on her face.

"Feeling better, Paul?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, Della, I must have been more tired than I thought. This case is is a difficult one. I'm sorry for being a nuisance."

"Seeing that our mutual boss is responsible, you don't have to apologize to me. And speaking of apologies, I want to make one. I don't know what got into me the other night. Too much wine, I guess. Please forgive me."

Paul looked uncomfortable. "No need to say that, Beautiful, I knew it was a joke."

"I had a lot of fun, Paul. I'd like to go out with you again. Maybe to one of those little jazz places you know. And seeing as how that boss of mine doesn't exactly overpay you, we'll go dutch. How about it?"

"Sounds great, Della. Saturday?"

"I'd like that. Now how about I run you home? You're in no shape to drive."

-X-

That Saturday evening Paul picked her up in his MG sports car. He effortlessly navigated his way to a downtown basement club. The maitre d' greeted him as an old and valued customer, and brought them to a cozy booth near the small stage. The food was excellent. They caught the first act. Della's knowledge of jazz was meager, but she could tell that there were some excellent players present.

At the end of the set, the bass player came down to their table. "Hey Paul, c'mon up and jam with us." Della was surprised: "Paul! I didn't know you played!" "Meanest honky-tonk piano man I know, ma'am," said the bass player with a smile. Reluctantly Paul came up on stage and went to the piano. "Let me warm up, boys – I'm out of practice." And he sat down and launched into some Scott Joplin. He followed it with some boogie woogie.

Della sat in awe. This was a Paul Drake she had never seen before. His playing was precise and energetic. And when the band joined him, it was clear that the jazz world had lost out when Paul had decided to become a private investigator. He was clearly an excellent musician, and accepted by the others as one of them.

The second set finished, Paul returned to Della. She still had a slightly stunned look on her face. "Paul, that was wonderful! I didn't know you could play!"

Paul put his arm around her shoulders. "There are lots of things you don't know about me, Miss Street."


	4. Chapter 4

As they drove home, Della talked with Paul about jazz, and music. Paul revealed that his parents were musicians and had hoped that he would follow them into classical music.

"I had other ideas, of course."

Paul walked Della to her door. She looked at him. "Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?", she asked.

"I'd love to, Della, but I need to catch up on my sleep." Della wasn't sure, but she thought he'd started at the suggestion.

She put her arms around Paul's neck. "Thanks for a wonderful time," she said hoping he could take a hint.

Paul didn't move.

Della, without letting go of him, lifted her face to him.

"Paul, I'm not made of glass, and Daddy Mason isn't watching out the window." And she kissed him hard.

Paul wasn't made of glass either, it seemed. After a moment's hesitation he kissed her back, and held her in an embrace that threatened to crush a rib or two.

As they parted, conflicting emotions surged over Paul's face. And then with a roar his MG drove out of sight.

Della got ready for bed. She glanced at her favourite flannel nightgown, and then retrieved a slinky, silk number from the bottom of a drawer.

As she undressed, she hummed a tune, and then realized that it was one of the numbers Paul had played at the club, accompanying the group's vocalist. What were the words?

_Never know how much I love you_

_Never know how much I care_

_But when you put your arms around me_

_I get a fever that's so hard to bear._


	5. Chapter 5

Paul did not sleep that night. Cigarette followed cigarette until dawn broke. Then he made his decision.

-X-

Della heard Paul's code knock on the door and looked up expectantly. Without even his inevitable "Hello Beautiful." Paul rushed past her and went into Mason's office.

"Perry, can I talk to you?" As was the case when he was perplexed, he spoke quickly.

"Certainly, Paul. Della?"

"Perry, this is kind of personal…"

"It's okay Della, I won't need you." And the door shut. For a moment only, Della considered trying to listen at the keyhole; but years of professionalism won out over curiosity.

"Perry. I… There's something I need to ask you. About Della."

"Go ahead, Paul. I can't promise that I can answer every question, but if I can, I will."

Paul drew in a deep breath. "Perry, are you in love with Della?"

Perry looked at him. "We're friends. I love her for her loyalty, for her character, for her devotion to her job. I love working with her. But that's not what you mean."

"Is Della in love with you?"

"Paul, that would be inadmissible as opinion evidence, and also offending the best evidence rule. Only Della can answer that question."

He looked tolerantly at Paul. "And why has it taken so long for my hotshot private eye to realize that my marvelously efficient secretary is also a very lovable and very beautiful woman?"

Paul became flustered. "I don't know, Perry. I've always flirted with her like I do with most women. I didn't even think I meant anything by it. I didn't know she had any feelings for me. She even told me that she wasn't my type. That my type would be a Midwest farmer's daughter carrying a few more pounds than she would like, who loved to cook. Now I don't know."

Perry smiled. "Paul, if you took the time to look into it, you'd find that Della comes from Iowa. I thought that there was something different about her this morning. You have my blessing, Paul, not that there's anything in her contract that derogates from her right as an adult to fall in love with whomever she pleases."

"But please be careful, Paul. She's the best secretary I've ever had. And you're the best P.I. When the dust settles, I want to have you both still working for me. We've got a team, and I want to keep it that way."

Paul left the office with his customary brashness. Della looked up at him, her face clouded with doubt.

"Hello, Beautiful!" Paul said with a smile.


	6. Chapter 6

Paul looked across the café table. He raised his coffee cup, took a drink and looked Della in the eyes.

"I'm confused," he said.

"About what, Paul?

"About us. About you. First you proposition me. Then you tell me I'm not your type. Then you kiss me.

"Paul." Della's usual composure was absent. "Maybe I'm confused, too. Look, I've spent the last ten years being the perfect secretary – and I've loved every minute of it. And it didn't bother me that people thought I was in love with Perry. That discouraged a lot of wolves. And there was always you to flirt with me, with nothing to gain or lose. I assumed you didn't mean anything by it."

"When you took me out to dinner that time when Perry was busy, yes, I'd had too much to drink. Part of me wanted to shock you. Part of me wanted to shake you and show you that I was a real woman with feelings."

She smiled awkwardly and blushed a little. "And I don't know quite how to say this – but I think part of me actually wanted to go to bed with you."

"It's been a long time since I was anyone's girlfriend. Probably back to when I was a teenager in Iowa. I'm out of practice. And I'm still a bit old-fashioned, even after all these years in LA. I'm attracted to you, Paul, even more now that I've seen your other sides. And part of me wants to take care of you. But I'm not like you – you've had all those blondes you run around with. I'm still a virgin, like Anne Riordan* in Philip Marlow. I'm just hoping I have better luck with a private detective than she did."

Inwardly, Paul groaned. He'd chased a lot of blondes – and been careful not to catch any. He had his standards, and the few women who had offered were the last ones he would have slept with. There was a romantic streak in Paul that he did his best to hide. He chose his words carefully.

"Della, although a lot of my flirting was in fun, you've always been special to me. I just never thought that you'd want any part of a private eye, when you could have Perry; or so it seemed to me. Maybe I'm not as brash and carefree as I seem."

"I'm coming to see that, Paul. Your music told me a lot more about you than you or Perry ever have. And Perry is a good judge of character – he wouldn't entrust his work to just anyone. And maybe I'm not the ruthlessly efficient secretary that everyone thinks I am."

"Della, if you're asking me not to rush you, I won't. You mean too much to me to risk it for a quick thrill. But I hope that you don't think this is cheap."

He leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss.

"Philip Marlowe didn't know everything."

*Anne Riordan appears in _Farewell My Lovely_ and again in the short story _The Pencil_. She is the daughter of the late Chief of Police for Bay City, who was driven out of office when a gambling syndicate takes over the town, since he was a straight cop. She is a redhead, and is independently wealthy. She is obviously in love with Marlow, even offering to work for him for free, but he turns her down, as he turns down her invitation to spend the night after he escape from the sanatarium where he has been doped. In the short story, when she complains of being a 28-year-old virgin, Marlow's response is that the world needs more of them.


	7. Chapter 7

As they drove back in Paul's MG, Della said quietly: "Paul, I think I'm ready to try it."

Taken unawares, Paul had to swerve sharply to avoid ramming a parked car.

"Are you sure, Della? I can wait."

"No, Paul, tonight. I want to."

-X-

"Della, you were wonderful!"

"Paul, I've wanted to ever since I was a teenager. But I never had the nerve.

-X-

Perry Mason frowned. "Della, I tried to get you last night, but there was no answer at your apartment."

"Sorry, Chief. I was at… I was at… I was out with Paul."

Perry noted the dark circles under Della's eyes, and her slightly dreamy look. "Della, I've never interfered with your personal life, but if you don't take care of yourself, you'll get sick."

-X-

Paul's parting words were: "Meet you at the Club. I'll arrange for the Boss."

Perry Mason grabbed the telephone, knowing that Gertie and Della had already gone.

"Yes Paul?"

"Perry, meet me down at the Club Bluenote. Things are about to break wide open. I've got a table reserved for you."

"I'll be right there, Paul."

The doorman whisked Perry straight to a table near the stage. Perry spotted Paul up on stage playing the piano. Good cover, he thought to himself. And he waited for Paul to come over, or give him a sign.

Off stage, Della was having jitters. She had rehearsed, first during all those long evenings with Paul, and then with the band at the club. She had it down, word, tune and moves. She heard Paul's opening chords, and walked onto the stage, into the lights.

Perry started. It was Della, but Della as he had never seen her before. Della in a black gown, off one shoulder, with her hair styled as he had never seen it before. With a soft smile on her lips as her eyes caught his.

Della straightened up to her full height, and swept the audience with her eyes. Then she launched into _Misty._

Perry had never heard Della sing before. She had a perfectly-pitched alto, with a vibrato that intensified the word she was singing. Paul's piano gently underlaid her song.

_I get misty the moment you're near_

As she sang those words, Della felt a sharp stab in her breast, as she had a flash of sudden realization. Her voice caught for a second. But then she heard the soft whispered words of the bass player, Joe – an old-time bluesman who had seen and could recognize pain.

"Miz Della you got to keep on!"

She recovered herself and continued.

_I'm too misty, and too much in love._

She ended to applause, and dashed off stage, not trusting her control.

Paul joined Perry at his table. "Isn't she wonderful? She sang in a choir in her teens, and wanted to sing torch songs, but didn't have the nerve. The boys and I helped her a little. But I think it was who she was singing to that made it come out so special."

"So you noticed it too, Paul? You couldn't see her eyes; I could."

"I can read voices, Perry. She still loves you."

"If that were all, it would be lousy for you Paul, but better for her. "

"The problem is, she has realized that she loves both of us."


	8. Chapter 8

Della joined Perry and Paul at their table. She had regained control of herself.

"How was I, Chief?" she asked Perry with a tentative smile.

"Good enough, Della, that I may have to place an advertisement in the Help Wanteds."

"You were wonderful, Della." Paul said smiling at her.

"You're both too kind. And I'm not quitting my day job."

Perry looked at his watch. "Paul, I'm late for another engagement. Can you take Della home?"

"Certainly, Perry," Paul replied, though it seemed to Della that his enthusiasm was lacking.

Paul was quiet on the drive back. So was Della, though her mind was racing. She had thought she knew what she wanted. Now she wasn't sure. But if she didn't move quickly, she might lose Paul. What she had in mind was desperate, but it was kill or cure, and it would burn her bridges behind her.

When they arrived, Della was ready.

"You'll come in for a quick drink with me, won't you, Paul? I want to thank you for all your help with the song."

It took a bit of persuasion, but finally Paul agreed to come in for a minute. He sat down on the couch while Della went to the kitchen to mix the drinks. She returned with two Bloody Marys. As she moved towards Paul, her heel caught on the edge of the carpet. Tomato juice spilled over his shirt and sports jacket.

"Quick! Get them off and I'll rinse them before the cloth can stain!

She practically tore the jacket and shirt off of him. She thought to herself that maybe she should have spilled it on his pants as well, but that might have been too much. In the bathroom she ran water over the shirt and sponged off the jacket. As the water ran, she hurriedly undressed. A glance in the mirror confirmed that, thirty or not, she still had the figure that had turned boys' heads in high school. She slipped on her sexiest silk nightgown. It hugged every curve and really left very little to the imagination. A quick spray of perfume, and she returned to Paul.

"I think all of the tomato juice came out," she said brightly.

Paul's mouth was working, and his eyes were fixed on her, bulging slightly. He'd never seen anything like this before.

Della sat on his lap, and molded her body against his bare chest. She noted the broad muscled shoulders, and a series of scars on his chest.

"Paul, I want you to make love to me. It's been a special night – I want it to be even more special." Maybe, she thought, if I take this final step, there won't be any turning back.

"Della." Paul's voice was husky with emotion. "I've never made love to a woman…"

"Like me." Della finished his sentence. "I know, Paul. I'm not a blonde and I'm inexperienced, but I am a woman, and I want you. Now."

Paul's face fell. "Della, I'm a fraud. I'm a virgin too. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

In spite of herself, Della began to laugh. Her grand sacrifice had fallen apart. She hugged him. "We'll have to both learn, I guess. But maybe not tonight." Then she kissed him. His arms closed around her, and held her tightly.

"Paul, where did you get those scars?"

"Korea. I was a dumb 18-year-old who thought he was a soldier. I didn't get out of the way fast enough."

Della thought back to Perry's file on Paul. He had done a thorough check on him before hiring his agency. There had been the letter from Army Records, setting out the award of the Silver Star to Private Paul Drake, "For gallantry at Unsan. Pvt. Drake, although wounded, destroyed a machine gun post that was pinning down his company."

Poor Paul, she thought. He thought he was playing at being a soldier, and he thinks he plays at being a private investigator. And he doesn't know that he's the real thing. He needs a good woman to bring him to give him confidence. And she knew that it was Paul whom she really loved. She could be Paul's and still have her special relationship with Perry.

Paul was asleep. Della looked at him fondly. Gently she loosened herself from his embrace, and settled him comfortably. She put a soft throw over his naked chest, and a blanket over that.

This is becoming a habit, she thought to herself.


	9. Chapter 9

Paul awoke to find himself on Della's couch. From the kitchen came the sound of bacon frying. Della, now wrapped in a warm housecoat, said: "Breakfast will be ready in five minutes. You've got time for a shower."

Paul marveled as he sat opposite Della as they ate. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to have spent the night in her apartment, and to be eating breakfast with her. Could this romance thing really be this easy?

Della looked at him. "Paul, you said last night that you were a fraud. You enlisted in the Army when you were 18, and you must have become a private investigator soon after your discharge. And yet you're musically talented, and though you try to hide it I think you're sensitive."

"Della, my parents were musicians, and I studied music as well. But when I was in school it wasn't the musicians that attracted the girls. And I took a lot of teasing from the guys. Some musicians and artists are, you know…"

The look of hurt in Paul's eyes at the memory was obvious. And Della recalled that when she was that age it was the jocks that she encouraged. And there had been one boy who had been interested in her, but she had given him the cold shoulder because he wasn't athletic, and she was worried what other people would think if she went out with him. She hadn't thought of Danny in years, but she now she felt ashamed to think of how she'd treated him.

"Some are, but you're definitely not. So you decided to prove that you were a tough guy?"

"That's about it, Della. But I never felt tough. Respected, yes. Maybe even feared. But inside the doubts are still there. Except when I'm jamming at the Club."

"Paul, if I weren't good at reading people, I wouldn't be working as Perry's confidential secretary. And Perry's a hundred times better than I am. If we have faith in you, you should believe in yourself, too. Women are people too, and we have just as many doubts and anxieties as you do. I've made my choice, Paul, and you're the man that I want. Drop the Philip Marlow act. Be yourself. Be the Paul Drake I love. You don't have to prove anything to me, so you shouldn't have to prove anything to yourself."


	10. Chapter 10

Della and Paul drove separately to work.

As usual, Perry was there ahead of her. The day's routine unfolded as usual, until they returned from the Court. As they sat in his office, Perry asked, "So how are things working out between you and Paul?"

Della smiled. "Counsellor, you taught me long ago about privileged communications. Now you're asking me to be unprofessional!"

"That good, Della? I'm glad you were able to make up your mind and I'm happy for the two of you."

Della walked around to Perry's side of the desk. She squatted down to his level, and put her arm around his shoulder. She gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek.

"You don't mind, do you, Chief? I mean, there have been moments between the two of us, when I wondered… But I've realized that I can't be Mrs. Perry Mason. I'm not big enough to be an equal match for you, and I'm too big to be willing to be the devoted wife in the background. It's different with Paul, he needs someone to help him grow."

"Della, the State of California only says you can't legally marry two people. So if you're going to get married it's better if there's only one person you want to marry. I've had the same mistress since I was called to the Bar. She's demanding, but well worth it. I'm not sure Justicia would tolerate a rival."

"It isn't going to change things, Chief. You need me too. Being your secretary is part of who I am, and I don't want to change that – ever. And I know you'll find lots of work for Paul to do so he doesn't have to sit home alone."

"Speaking of which, you need to pay Paul more, and give him some time off. He keeps falling asleep on me!

Perry reached into his wallet and drew out a fifty-dollar bill.

"Della, Paul's been working thirty-hour days. I'd like you to treat him to a nice dinner and spoil him."

"I'd love to, Chief. I know just the place. I might even have a proposition to put to him!"


End file.
